He won't argue that it's hard to see what it will look like from down here, but he wants to. Vasquez finds it nearly impossible to fight the urge to continue to bicker and retort, but it soon grows easy to forget with Faraday rocking into the warmth of his mouth. Everything fades away and he doesn't want to argue anymore.

He just wants Faraday to keep fucking his mouth, adjusting himself a little, though as he rocks his hips against the mattress, it's purely to give himself a bit of relief from his own aching issue, having been hard since they started this.

He wants to touch so badly, but from here, he's limited. Instead of gripping his hips, he moves his palms to Faraday's thighs, dragging calloused fingers up and down the warmth of his skin as he works (coughing and having to ease back every time Faraday goes just a little too deep; maybe years ago when he was better at this, he could go deeper, but it's been a while).

Not so long that he doesn't know a few tricks, like the soft hum he lets loose when he's as deep as he can go, or the way he lets his fingers drift up the inside of Faraday's thigh to work his balls, not hard, but a firm press as he leans up to hopefully work him a little faster than before, to give him no chance to think or speak, only for him to come.